


NyQuil, The Savior

by readwriteandavengers



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, M/M, Mick Cares, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-13
Updated: 2017-08-13
Packaged: 2018-12-14 17:16:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11787747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/readwriteandavengers/pseuds/readwriteandavengers
Summary: Nate gets sick and Mick finds himself subbing in as a caretaker.





	NyQuil, The Savior

**Author's Note:**

> Ahh, don't know where this came from but have a semi-short steelwave fic! Thanks for reading!

Nate’s used to getting sick. He’s used to the flushed, red-hot tip of his nose, and the mucus that he can never seem to get rid of, no matter how many tissues he uses. There are the pressure headaches and the awful loss of taste. Nate’s all used to it, but he found himself getting sick less often when he joined the Legends. He started to think because of his abilities, his immune system must have improved as well.

He was wrong.

They spent a week in England during the Victorian period, and boy, Nate was not handling it well. The coal in the air was thick, the smell of waste and soot was a terrible mixture, and he often found it unbearable. Since the mission didn’t really require his presence in the field he stayed back, taking home in the library.

But as the nights passed, he started to feel worse and worse. The second night he stood in the shower, feeling absolutely drained. His bones seemed to ache, his muscles were barely responsive, and his brain was not keeping up.

He’d gotten out of the shower, doing a half-ass job at toweling himself off and proceeded to shuffle his way out of the shower. The steam had really built up and he was worried he was going to pass out if he stayed in the damp warmth any longer.

The cool floor of the Waverider was an absolute welcome to counteract the sudden flush he felt through his entire body. He thought he was probably still coming down from the hot shower, but now the heat isn’t wearing off and it’s starting to feel more internalized than anything.

He makes it back to his room, dizzy but unscathed. Once his door slides shut behind him he discards his towel, sighing in satisfaction as the cool air hits his body. He doesn’t bother doing anything else than grabbing a pair of boxers, sliding them on, and throwing himself down on his bed. Haphazardly, he tosses his blanket over his torso but leaves most of himself exposed. He’s too hot to bundle up.

Next thing he knows, his eyes are shutting, his breathing regulates, and he’s off to sleep.

-

The next morning is like waking up to hell. His head is absolutely throbbing, he can’t breathe through his nose and his body had adjusted to breathe through his mouth last night so his tongue is as dry as sandpaper. He feels his joints aching and physically lets out a groan in frustration.

“Great,” Nate complains to the empty room, his voice laden with sleep and sick.

He rolls over, facing the doorway with only weak sparks of any thought occurring in his mind. He blinks at the opposite wall, and he blinks, until he thinks that maybe he should get up. A warm drink might make him feel better, and Gideon probably has some sort of medicine in the med-bay that’ll help.

Nate groans again and a slight part of him thinks that maybe he’s being too dramatic, but then he feels his knees ache as he stands and he definitely shoos that thought away. He’s hurting and he’s sick so he’s going to groan all he wants.

Nate doesn’t bother getting on any other sorts of clothes. He just grabs his large duvet and wraps it around himself like a protective cover. He’s sure he probably looks like a human burrito, and his hair is definitely sticking up at all odd angles, but he can’t find himself to care.

He drags his feet out of his room and down the hall, finding the rest of the ship empty and eerily quiet. The team must still be out in ole’ England, which Nate’s actually grateful for. He doesn’t think he wants the team to see him like this, and definitely not Ray. He loves Ray, but he doesn’t want the other worrying… and Nate doesn’t think he could take Ray’s constant joy at the moment.

He’s nearly to the med-bay when he hears Gideon’s voice from above.

“Dr. Heywood, it appears you’ve fallen ill.”

“Good observation, Gideon,” Nate groans as he continues on. “What gave it away? The bad morning breath, the nasally voice, or my groveling?”

“Actually, your temperature is what’s alerted me. Your temperature is running about 101.1 degrees.”

Nate can’t form words so he only groans in response as he makes it into the med-bay. He pinches his blanket tightly in one hand as he uses the other to start rummaging through the cabinets.

“Gideon, you’ve have to have something good in here.” Nate comments as he doesn’t see anything right away. He’s starting to get concerned with the lack of cold medicine available.

“I believe Mr. Jackson has a few bottles of Nyquil in the cabinet to the far right.” Gideon tells him kindly. “Mr. Jackson got an awful cold when we visited 2989.”

Nate hums in response as he abandons the cabinet, leaving the door wide open with little regard to close it. He makes it to the other cabinet and can see the signature purple bottle. Even just the sight of the bottle is putting him at ease.

He grabs one bottle and turns around, leaving that cabinet door open as well. He makes his foot-shuffling journey back to his room, mumbling a quick thanks to Gideon as he goes.

Once back in the confines of his room, Nate sits on the edge of the bed and breaks the seal on the Nyquil. He pours himself a large helping and proceeds to tilt it back, trying to take every last drop. On a time ship, Nyquil seems to be a rarity so he definitely doesn’t plan on wasting.

He grimaces at the thick residue left on the top of his tongue, but he sets the bottle off to the side and settles back into his mattress. He can’t imagine anything worse than getting sick on a time ship. If he had more energy he’d be worried that he caught some awful old plague, but when he nuzzles against his pillow he gives up thinking and succumbs to sleep again.

-

The Legends pile back onto the Waverider, faces covered in dirt and cracked from the awful warehouse they were at. The coal burning in the large furnace had been absolutely hell to deal with, and to top it off, a fight had broken out in said warehouse. Safe to say the team never wants to hear the word “soot” again.

They make it into the bridge, expecting to see Nate, but the other isn’t occupying any of their seats.

Sara’s face scrunches in concerned confusion. “Nate?” She calls out.

The team follows by finding a place to throw themselves down and relax. Amaya and Jax take chairs, Ray collapses on the ground, and Martin leans heavily on the center console.

Sara and Mick are the ones left, standing side by side as they listen to the silence echo back.

Sara turns towards Mick, taking the back of her hand and swatting him in the sternum gently. “Go see what he’s up to.”

Mick quirks a brow at her, but she doesn’t saying anything else. She leaves the order hanging in the air as she walks up the steps to the captain’s quarters.

Mick’s left standing, hands at his sides as he turns to watch Sara settle into one of the worn leather chairs Rip leaves lying around. He wants to be petulant, stay standing and stare her down, but he actually wants to see the stupid historian anyway. He can tell Nate all about what it was like to be close to the giant smoldering stove that burned orange with coal in its belly.

Mick steps away from the rest of the team, heading down the hall that leads to the library and the bedrooms. The hall is rather silent, not even the sound of a page turning in a book filling the air. Mick stops first at the library, pushing the door open to peer inside, but there’s no Nate to be found. Mick grumbles slightly and continues on his way to Nate’s bedroom, boots clanking against the floor with every step.

“Pretty,” Mick gruffs out, bringing up a curved fist and rapping his knuckle against the doorway. He’s patient, by his standards, and waits at least twenty seconds for a reply. When he doesn’t get one, he knocks again.

Still no answer.

“Hope you’re decent,” Mick jokes as he shuffles a step to the side, where the hand pad is. With a press of his palm against the pad, the door starts to slide open. Mick doesn’t bother waiting for it to open all the way up; he makes sure to slide in as soon as there’s a gap large enough for him.

But the sight of a large furled blanket on top of Nate’s bed has Mick stopping. If Nate’s not in the library and not in his room...

A small huff of breath sounds under the blanket, causing Mick to smirk amusedly. He steps forward, grabbing onto the blanket and pulling it back gently. His guess as to where Nate lays is spot on because he reveals Nate’s face-

Mick freezes again, this time with a fistful of blanket in hand. Nate’s actually fast asleep, mouth gaped open as he breathes in and out. It’s enough to puzzle Mick, face scrunching to match his emotion.

“Pretty,” Mick tries again… but he doesn’t budge. Mick sighs, bringing a gloved hand up and jostling Nate’s shoulder softly. “Nate," Mick iterates stronger.

That elicits a startled noise from the other and his eyes soon flutter open. Nate’s sleepy eyes first focus in front of him, but then he finds Mick’s arm and follows the rest of the way until he finds Mick looking back at him.

Nate’s eyes widen and he snaps his mouth shut speedily. He shifts under his covers, brows knitting together as he tries to wet his tongue. “What’s going on?” Nate rasps out, moving to sit up.

Mick watches him further, still confused as Nate tries to come fully awake. He rubs his eyes as Mick starts to answer.

“Nothing. We just came back and we’re headed away from here. Sara wanted me to check on you.” Mick answers and he knows he’s using Sara as an excuse but it’s true. He pushes the thought away as he narrows his eyes at Nate.

He takes in the other’s appearance, finding a reddened nose, chapped lips, and labored breathing. “Are you sick?” Mick deduces.

“Yeah,” Nate sighs exhaustedly. His eyes flit back up to Mick’s, utterly soft and sleepy. “I must have picked it up.”

Mick eyes him for a few seconds, uncertain how to proceed. He’s not the consoling type, but he finds himself stepping forward and sitting on the edge of Nate’s bed. Nate only sits, elbows on his knees as he blinks blearily.

“Do you like soup?” Mick asks.

Nate seems to take a second to fully process the question, and Mick has never seen someone ponder so long about soup. But Nate jumps into action and nods his head. “Yeah, I like soup.”

Mick huffs out in agreement, then pushes his way up from the bed and head towards the exit. He’s nearly out of the door when he hears Nate calling him back.

“Wait, what are-You don’t have to make me soup, Mick.” Nate tells him earnestly, all with his nasally tone.

Mick rolls his eyes at Nate, following up by shaking his head and leaving the room. He’s not the best cook, hell, he barely cooks at all, but he thinks he can make some soup. Or warm it up at the very least.

When he reaches the kitchen, he filters towards the cabinets instantly. He’s here searching for one thing anyway, no point in wasting time. And really he could have the fabricator make a nice bowl of soup, but Mick doesn’t trust it right now. Not with Nate being sick. Nate needs real food, even if it comes out of a can.

Speaking of, Mick’s gaze settles on a Campbell’s can that’s been pushed to the back. Triumphantly, he smiles as his big hand grasps onto the can and pulls it out. On his way over to the stove he grabs a medium pot. It clanks noisily when he sits it on the stove top but he continues on his mission and manages to open the can with the help of a pull tab.

He sloshes the contents into the pot with his head tilted to the side, admiring the sight. It’s chunky, but he remembers making this for himself when he was between foster homes. So he takes the can, runs it under the faucet and fills it to the top with water. He’s gentle as he pours it in, then discards the can to the side and turns the flame on.

Now to sit back and wait for it to heat up. Mick takes one step back, the feeling of the island hitting his lower back. He doesn’t mind taking this moment to rest, just to lean back with one leg crossed over the other and stop thinking.

“You’re really making me soup?”

Mick’s brows dart up at the sound of the voice and he moves to turn around, even though he knows who’s waiting for him.

Nate stands in the doorway with his comforter wrapped around himself. His cheeks are flushed but he’s wearing a smile on his face. And really, Mick shouldn’t find him so cute when Nate’s suffering from a cold. Yet here Nate is, wrapped in a blanket with his bare collarbones revealed and a smile on his face.

“You’re supposed to rest when you’re sick, doofus.” Mick shoots back, shaking his head.

Nate’s smile never drops, even at the term. He only walks in further and this is the first time Mick notices that Nate’s got ridiculously fluffy socks on his feet but nothing on his legs. He shakes his head, smirking.

Nate reaches Mick’s side and notices the other’s smirking, so he asks: "Are you laughing at me?”

“You look ridiculous.” Mick tells him with a happy lilt in his tone.

Nate can’t stop smiling, but he manages a teasing pout. “I’m sick and miserable.”

Mick huffs out a light laugh through his nose, giving a slight nod “I see that.”

Nate laughs, the sound pure joy to Mick’s ears, and turns to rest at Mick’s side. Together the two watch the flames on the stove lick against the bottom of the pot, warming the soup slowly but surely.

“You don’t look so hot yourself.” Nate tells him after a pause, turning to peer over at Mick. The other is still covered in grime, with the soot coating his face except for where his natural wrinkles wear away the dirt. “Crazy fight?”

That’s enough invitation for Mick to start talking about the fight he and the rest of the team had experienced. It was crazy, to say the least, with the radiating heat from the coal, and the burning sensation every time they breathed in the awful soot. Nate grimaces when Mick tells him that and looks… worried. Mick pushes it away, continuing on instead to tell him how one time pirate almost got tossed into the burning embers.

Nate listens entirely, taking in each of Mick’s words and letting them settle. He looks concerned when Mick talks about fighting, and he looks amused when Mick’s smirking at whatever dumb thing their assailant had done. But when Mick’s story ends, Nate only sighs with a small shake of his head.

“I’m glad you’re okay.” Nate admits, his smile just as warm as his cheeks look.

Mick doesn’t know what to say, but the soup seems to work as a great excuse because he notices it start to boil. He comes forward, taking it off of the heat and turns off the flame. He turns around, giving Nate a stern glare.

“Sit down. You’re going to eat this.”

Nate laughs at his demeanor, but he obeys and shuffles his way over to the bar at the other end. He brings his blanket with, somehow never losing it as he gets up on the chair and sits down. He takes to watching Mick instead, watching as the other procures a bowl and a large spoon. Carefully, he pours it into the bowl, but a few drops splash out. Mick follows up by letting the spoon sit in the bowl, then brings it over to display for Nate.

Just the sight of the warm soup has Nate feeling better. His hands peek out from the blanket, pulling the bowl closer to himself.

“Thank you,” he says, taking the spoon and stirring the noodles. Then he gets a good helping on the edge of the spoon and brings it up towards his mouth, blowing at the steaming meal before him.

Mick can’t help but feel a sense of pride having been able to make a bowl of soup for Nate. It’s not the soup itself, but it’s the fact that he was able to make Nate smile, and he was able to _do_ something for Nate. He likes that Nate appreciates it, but most of all he does hope that Nate feels better.

He watches Nate take another bite and Mick can’t help the way his lips twitch up into a grin.

“Mick.”

The two are brought out of their moment of silence by Sara’s voice at the door to the kitchen. She looks between them for a second before she points towards the other end, down by the med-bay. She’s actually clean, which is a stark contrast to how her skin was heavily tarnished earlier from dirt.

“Go get a breathing treatment in the med-bay. Last thing any of us need is to come down with black lung.” Sara then moves to continue past the kitchen, but she takes one step back as her eyes land on Nate, suspicious. “What’s wrong with you?” She poses.

Nate sniffles and that’s all it takes for understanding to cross Sara’s face. Regardless, he still answers in a downtrodden tone. “I’m sick.”

“Oh,” Sara says blandly, but finally she gives him a nod. “Alright, well, looks like you’re being taken care. Feel better, Nate. Let me know if you need anything.”

Nate gives her a weak smile which she returns, but then she pats the doorframe before heading back towards the bridge. Leaving both Mick and Nate to rest in their silence again. It wasn’t tense before, but now that their moment had been interrupted, things feel slightly off. For Mick at least.

He straightens up, sliding his hands into his pockets. “Alright, best listen to the Captain.”

Nate gives Mick another smile, a mess of bed head, and flushed cheeks,. Yet Mick can’t help but find the other stunning, even sick. He feels bad, he wants to linger a bit longer, but he knows that breathing treatment isn’t a bad idea after all. And while Mick doesn’t mind getting down and dirty, he definitely wants to get out of these clothes and wash the muck off of his skin.

“Thanks again,” Nate says graciously as he tugs the soup closer. “I feel better already,” he chuckles, but the comment only causes him to start coughing.

Mick gives him a nod, only wanting to stay longer, but if he does he’ll never end up getting that breathing treatment. So he steps away from Nate, walking stiffly out of the room and down the hall to the med-bay. Sure, Mick doesn’t have the best regard for his life, but he’d rather not suffer with lung problems for the rest of his life.

That doesn’t make him feel any less wrong for walking away from Nate, leaving him sick and coughing. He should try and do more, or at least help Nate back to his room…

“Welcome, Mr. Rory.” Gideon greets as Mick walks into the med-bay. “Time for that breathing treatment?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Mick grumbles as he places himself into one of the nearby chairs. There’s a mask sitting on the bedside so he reaches forward and applies it to his face. With nothing else to do, he sits back and enjoys the silence.

-

An hour or so later, Mick’s showered, dressed down in some comfortable pajama bottoms and ready to hit the hay. Exhaustion droops heavy in his bones, and every time he blinks he feels like he could fall asleep standing up. But he can’t head back to his room, not yet. He hadn’t seen Nate since they’d been in the kitchen and he’s curious as to how the other is feeling now.

He’s passing Nate’s room anyway… so he makes a stop and hesitantly lifts his hands. Much like earlier, he raps his knuckles against the doorframe. There’s a moment’s pause, but then the door slides open on its own accord to find Nate still bundled up in bed.

“Sorry, I would’ve opened to door myself if I didn’t feel like I was going to collapse,” Nate tells him as Mick enters further into the room. “But lucky for me, Gideon is the kindest and will open the door for me,” Nate’s interrupted by a brief cough, then continues. “Thanks, Gideon.”

“You’re very welcome, Dr. Heywood.” Gideon answers back.

Mick can’t help feeling awkward and slightly foolish as he walks in further, dressed in an old shirt and bottoms. Then again, he sees Nate’s silly socks peeking out from underneath the blanket and he doesn’t feel so ridiculous any longer. Mick doesn’t stop until he reaches the edge of the bed, bringing one leg up and sitting on the edge.

“Still sick?” Mick inquires. He really wants to ask if he’s feeling better, or if the soup helped at all, but that’s what comes out instead. He never could show his compassion very well.

“As a dog.” Nate retorts, shuffling underneath his blankets so he can peer up at Mick drearily. “You must be exhausted.”

“Yeah,” Mick gives a short nod in agreement. “You too.”

Nate sighs, but it’s laced with content. Mick must imagine he feels as relaxed as he’s going to get stuffed inside his comforter, but after awhile even a bed gets uncomfortable. “I could definitely sleep for about ten hours if that’s what you’re saying.”

Mick smirks at that, finding Nate smiling back. A comfortable silence falls between the two, but an idea sparks in Mick’s head, and as usual, not much thought process goes into his words. “Scoot over.” He instructs, placing one hand on the mound of blankets and trying to guide Nate to the side.

Nate grumbles and tries to move, but he’s really trapped inside his little blanket abode. Mick can’t help rolling his eyes, but it’s more amusing than anything. He gives Nate the benefit here and climbs up onto the mattress, swinging his other leg over Nate to claim the empty space between the wall and the other.

“I’m going to get you sick,” Nate states, but not exactly in protest. He almost seems happy that Mick’s there, shoulder pressed against shoulder.

Mick’s scoffing as he shakes away the accusation. “I don’t get sick,” he challenges, bringing one hand over to tug at the blanket. Nate gives way and soon the two are sharing the duvet as best as they can manage. It’s now that they’re both under the downy comforter that Mick realizes just how warm Nate’s skin is against his.

“Did you take any medicine?” Mick questions, although his tone makes it feel more like an interrogation.

“Yes,” Nate groans as he rolls over to mush his face into his pillow. “I’m hoping it’ll cure me by tomorrow so I don’t have to be a mouth-breather anymore.”

Mick huffs out a laugh at that as he kicks his feet out of the blanket to get more comfortable. “You’ll always be a mouth-breather.”

“ _Ha-ha_.” Nate snidely counters, but Mick can see the other smile against his pillow. “Charming as always, Mick.”

“Shut up and go to sleep,” Mick manages, bringing one of the pillows Nate has tucked into the corner to his side. He folds it in just a way that’s perfect support under his head and he thinks he’ll probably fall asleep soon too.

“Goodnight,” Nate mumbles moments later, and just by the tone in his voice Mick can tell Nate’s almost asleep. He can’t help but turn his head, admiring the way the other looks with his eyes shut softly and his lips slightly parted. Sure, the snoring is slightly annoying, but Mick’s put up with far more agitating things.

Mick lets his own eyes shut and soon the two fall fast asleep, swallowed by the ambiance of a soft yellow stone nightlight in the corner of Nate’s room.


End file.
